


A Trader in Topaz

by Lucius Parhelion (Parhelion)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Classical Age Cultures, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Reincarnation, Sacred Crocodiles, Traders and Merchants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-01
Updated: 2008-11-01
Packaged: 2018-12-02 13:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11510613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parhelion/pseuds/Lucius%20Parhelion
Summary: Trader Nebyi of the Veiled People has traveled months to guest with his partner, the Magus Raushan, and purchase gems in The City of Dark Gold. But, for once, it won't be either Raushan's toyings with magic or his pleasure-loving ways that get them both in trouble.





	A Trader in Topaz

I

He'd endured two months in a broad-bellied merchant ship with nothing but an ensorcelled sliver of iron to assure him that they hadn't been blown off-course to die of thirst at sea. He'd spent another month traveling in creaking oxcarts, risking hostile rustics, opportunistic bandits, and the driving rains of monsoon season while following the neglected roads of the Old Empire to the City of Dark Gold. And what was Nebyi's reward?

His local host and trading partner, the Magus Raushan, belched elegantly. "Wonderful beer." Then he told Nebyi, "Yes, do sing us a song." Resting two fingers on the wrist of the city official who'd made the suggestion, the Magus added confidingly, "My Younger Brother in Trade has a lovely voice. The Veiled People so often do."

Never argue during drinking parties. That was Uncle Kirubel's eighth rule of conduct while amidst foreigners, and his Uncle in Trade had survived three decades as an outlands trader. Suppressing a sigh, Nebyi stood up from his stool. "A song of love, a song of valor, or a song of laughter?"

After downing six gourds full of barley beer, the Master of Seals and Markets was slow. He pondered. "A song of, a song of, a song of, oh, ah, oh--" Nebyi squashed his urge to thwack the man and see if he would come unstuck "--wealth." The official brightened. "Lots and lots of wealth."

His minions chimed in with "Wealth, certainly." "Yes, wealth is good." "Never miss a chance to hear about wealth."

Since most of the wealth songs Nebyi knew were about fellow traders making fools of barbaric or effete foreigners, this didn't seem like such a good idea. He glanced over at Raushan, who had pursed his lips and was studying the reed straw in his beer in the manner that meant, "You'd better."

Nebyi tilted his head, veils shifting, in the manner that meant, "Oh, fine." Climbing up onto their table, he waited warily for the creaking or snapping noises that would warn of impending collapse; his people were built for sturdier furnishings than the folks of the Great Peninsula were. When all seemed secure, he slapped both hands on his robed thighs for the company's attention and then launched into the "List of Gems," a mnemonic song that catalogued the precious stones every trader of Dymat was expected to recognize.

Since Nebyi didn't translate anything, the alliterations in the verses made them roll out as impressively as a bolt of fine linen, and the song's tune was lovely. Also, the "List of Gems" had a nice beat that one could dance to. Soon, even with his robes' padding, Nebyi's palms were sore with his keeping time. After the interval it would take to boil hard a hen's egg, he had half the tavern bawling along on the chorus. He doubted they had any notion that what they were singing in their horrible, horrible accents was roughly, "gems bring silver, gems bring gold/know them when you see them sold/sort the best ones out to buy/grab them low to trade them high."

Three river tribesmen, still in full scarves and bells, had linked arms and were sliding their feet in a whirlpool dance over on the next tabletop, sharkskin slippers rasping across cedar planks. The Master of Seals and Markets, the sounds of whose personal name would mean "Sour Cheese" in Nebyi's language, was weeping. Nebyi only hoped that the lots and lots of wealth he was weeping over wasn't Nebyi's. As for Raushan, he was swinging one forefinger solemnly to the beat as he sipped delicately at his straw. Nebyi would have tried for a surreptitious kick in his direction if he didn't think Raushan might burst out laughing afterward. So might Nebyi, for all that.

Good fortune that he was rescued from temptation when someone rushed in through the shop's bamboo curtains to shout that a liondog was fighting a big -- big! -- crab down by the river gate. The tavern emptied quickly, as most of its patrons hurried away to see and wager on what was apparently, from the gabble of voices, an auspicious and prophetic contest. None of the patrons who stayed, including the Master of Seals and Markets slowly sliding beneath their table, protested when Nebyi ended the List of Gems right after topaz. Just as well; he had thirty-eight verses worth of precious stones and materials left to go.

Clambering down off of the table, which nearly broke the stool, he grabbed for his gourd and straw. He needed this drink too much to try more than an annoyed snort at Raushan, who was patting his own chin with three fingertips in the refined and courtly form of applause.

Nebyi had just finished swallowing and was going to speak when Raushan got in first with, "Alas that you didn't reach jade. That's my favorite verse. The description of fat jade is especially lyrical."

It took a moment to disentangle the straw from his lower veil so that he could say, "You are not helping." He sat before adding, "And the Honorable Sour Cheese is on the floor."

"Tush," Raushan said, "it's dirty down there." He leaned over to fish Sour Cheese up from under the table with a single hand wrapped into his tunic. For a reed-slim member of a caste that did no manual labor, he was ridiculously strong. Also tall. If Nebyi ever had to arrange for an auspicious contest between a handsome giraffe and a plague of monkeys, he knew where to secure one-half of the match. Maybe both halves.

"Are all his scribes and assistant seal bearers off to the battle?"

"So it seems." Raushan tried a couple of shakes and surveyed the result critically. Nebyi quickly edged his stool away. "This only appears to make matters worse. He's still not awake, but he's changed colors."

"He's greenish now."

"And not a pleasant shade, either. Something rather like mournful peridot."

Knowing better than to ask how a peridot could go into mourning, Nebyi settled instead for, "Can we put him into his official litter and send him home?"

"What a respectable and hospitable idea, Younger Brother." Raushan was removing a pouch from a place in the Master's tunic where his hands likely shouldn't have wandered. "I'm sure he will be very pleased with you when he awakes. That is, if he's not too preoccupied with sad, green thoughts." As he spoke, he extracted from the pouch a cylindrical seal of alabaster and the sort of fragment of hard clay that flaked off a drying sealing stick. Nebyi saw the clay soften as Raushan rubbed it between his long fingers, a magi's little trick. "Now, then. Do you have your permit?"

What Nebyi wanted to do was throw his large self across the table to block from view something that was likely a highly illegal act, qualifying for punishments involving sharpened stakes, sacred crocodiles, or both. What he did do was take out the folded piece of paper that they'd been trying to persuade the Honorable Sour Cheese to seal before he'd suggested they host him and his juniors to more than a few drinks. He unfolded it quickly, forcing his fingers not to fumble.

Briskly, Raushan squashed the now-soft clay onto the reed paper, rolled the seal across it, and returned the seal to the pouch where it belonged. Then he leaned forward and blew lightly on the result, which dried to hardness at once. Tiny specks in the clay glinted in the afternoon sunlight sifting past the bamboo curtains as Nebyi snatched the paper away to refold it and hide it beneath his outer robes. The authenticating mica and pyrite, part of his mind gibbered, and they were both going to rot in a pit. Maybe fifteen heartbeats had passed, more of his mind countered, and they'd likely get away with this. "Now I'm feeling sad and green," he told Raushan.

Looking up from lovingly rearranging the honorable official's skirts and tunic, Raushan frowned. "Then you should eat more beans. They stir the spirit."

"Venerable Elder Brother in Trade, there are days when you are the lower incarnation of water buffalo dung."

"Complain, complain." Raushan pursed his lips to make a kissing noise that might be an insult or might be meant quite seriously. Likely both, knowing Raushan. Then, "Help me to get him onto his feet," he said. "We'll put him into his litter as you suggested."

They had just emerged from the gap in the bamboo curtains that shielded the front of the tavern, and Raushan had waved to attract the attention of the bearers valiantly guarding their Master's litter from the hazards of a patch of shade, when straggling clusters of their former fellow patrons came wandering back up the street. Since the official's minions were toward the front of the pack, Nebyi and Raushan propped up the Master of Seals and Markets between them and waited.

"What's this?" asked one, and "Oh, ah!" said the next, and "Where are you going with the Honorable Master?" demanded the third.

"The Honorable Master of Seals and Markets, having taken ill, has requested to be sent home to his household." Raushan bobbed his head, a gesture of concern, and looked mournful. "His liver has shaded into sadness." He shifted Sour Cheese into the arms of his minions.

All this seemed to make perfect sense to the officials -- sometimes, even to outland traders, foreigners were inexplicable -- and they fell to quarreling about who should take Sour Cheese home and steal the credit for being helpful. Grasping Nebyi's robed arm, Raushan walked him away, leaving them to it. He accosted a pair of men settling a wager outside the tavern to ask, "Who was the victor?"

"The crab," the loser of the wager told him mournfully. "Such a bad omen." The winner, counting coins that you'd have thought would have cheered him, hiked up a shoulder in agreement and spat toward the nearest bamboo curtain.

"Tch, tch," Raushan said, and walked on.

"Did the result mean something special?" Nebyi asked him.

"Oh, the liondog is a rare creature that symbolizes land and the great crab is an equally rare symbol of water, and its victory means water wins power from land. The City will lose this year's treaty boat-races to the river tribesmen. Again. The ninth time in ten years."

"That's not an augury, that's a trend."

"So, then. The crab's victory could also mean that we will see might passing out of these lands and over the seas, unless we take severe measures against foreigners to prevent such an evil event. Which alternative do you prefer?"

"Row on to victory, noble river tribesmen."

"As your Elder Brother in Trade, I commend your wisdom," Raushan said, and gently shook Nebyi's elbow through his robes. "Let's make our way to a bakeshop. I need a little something to sop up all that beer before I walk much farther."

***

Raushan, the Crones bless him, was not one for wrapping the privileges of his caste and title close around him. Strictly speaking, as Raushan of the Raushani, a man believed to be the reincarnation of one of the twelve gem-magi whose powers had upheld the Old Empire, he should have been followed about by a train of priest-attendants and only eaten food prepared by his own chef and tasted by his own taster, if he ate in public at all. He certainly shouldn't be plumping up his purse by splitting the profits of trade with outlanders.

However, the Raushani were the weakest and quietest of the clans of the magi caste. Raushan made a strength of their weakness by living a life of political detachment and "aesthetic retreat" from the rest of his clan that, to Nebyi's foreign eyes, amounted to him wandering around The City of Dark Gold, doing whatever he most desired. And right now, what he seemed to desire was a bakeshop that sold sweet millet cakes.

At least millet cakes were a food that Nebyi could eat in public without exposing himself. For untold generations -- that was Uncle Kirubel's way of saying at least three generations -- the Raushan magus had been the local partner of the traders of Nebyi's line. This particular refined sprig on the Raushani branch had revealed himself as The Raushan to his clansmen a decade before Nebyi's first apprentice trip abroad with Uncle Kirubel. He understood the problems of veils and the people who wore them.

He also courted danger in a particular way that only men born to wealth and position dared do. "Wasn't that nice of the Honorable Master to assist us? Now you won't have to miss the miner's market tonight."

You learned new ways to convey your feelings when you went around veiled abroad for months at a time. Nebyi removed the remaining half of the millet cake he'd been eating and dropped it back onto the plate between them.

Raushan studied it. "You are disgusting," he said in Nebyi's language.

"No, disgusted," Nebyi returned in the same tongue.

"Tch, tch. You claimed you wished to attend the market."

Nebyi had. These days, most miners were slaves, but they retained their moon-god-granted, Old Empire privilege of prospecting abandoned sections of workings during the darks of the moon when they'd otherwise sleep. The miner's market, held twice a year on full moon's eve, was where they could sell their rare discoveries of value.

Since he'd first visited The City eight monsoons ago, Nebyi had wanted to attend. He'd envied the tales his sisters told of sailing west to buy red coral straight from the tribeswomen who dived deep to search them out, bargaining for single pieces on the basis of quality and beauty rather than bidding on the sorts of mixed, graded lots that the Great Peninsula's gem merchants auctioned. The problem lay in getting a market permit. For obvious reasons, owners and officials wanted the miner's markets kept small. Usually such obstacles only enflamed Nebyi's curiosity all the more. But he wasn't curious enough to court this kind of trouble.

"I did want to attend. I do. I don't want to be eaten by a sacred crocodile."

"Phoo. The Just God's crocodiles only eat the guilty."

"We are the guilty," Nebyi pointed out before realizing from Raushan's innocent smile that he was being teased. "Oh, choke on it."

Raushan raised beautifully plucked eyebrows. "I certainly hope not. But perhaps I'd best confine myself to female companionship tonight, to be certain."

Nebyi was glad his veils hid his flush. He didn't want to react. The peninsular approach to these matters was very different from Dymat's customs. And "Don't fuck with fucking outland," was Uncle Kirubel's rule number one, not that the thought of managing robes and veils while on a visit to the entertainment district was appealing. Not very appealing, at least. Such a visit would be complicated, in any case. Nebyi settled for asking, "You won't be coming along to the market?"

"No, no. I'm going to sit in the east pavilion of my host tonight and admire the full moon rising over the river. Then we magus-blood will recite poetry, tell each other gaudy tales of the days when our gem-exalted ancestors crafted great magic and won bloody victories, listen to our musicians, and compliment each other on how refined we are before we straggle off in gross intoxication with our hired companions."

"Ah, much like the afternoon enjoyed by the Master of Seals and Markets."

With his lips pursed to hide the smile that still showed in his eyes, Raushan said, "I must remember to leave my private seal at home." Standing, he added, "Which reminds me. I want to bathe before I go out again. After yet another day in those robes, I'm sure you do, too. Let's take ourselves home."

Gratefully leaving behind both the conversation and the half-eaten millet cake, Raushan went with him out of the bakeshop.

They were already in the hill district where Raushan lived; this bakeshop was built into the outer walls of some upper caste's townhouse. A brief, brisk walk was enough to bring them to Raushan's small and ancient house, perched right on the edge of the river gorge behind a high wall of whitewashed stone.

Unlike in Dymat, each person of position in Old Empire cities lived in his own building with his own people around him, always dwelling in the same household. No shifting for them between motherhouse and guildhall; Nebyi thought that living a lifetime in the Principalities of the Old Empire must be like enforced exile at a single inn. At least Raushan kept his residence small, so he and Nebyi didn't rattle around from room to room like caretakers at some palace when its Queen was on procession.

Raushan's elderly freedman, Arun, went with him into the bathing room to sluice Raushan down and scrape him clean over the drain. Nebyi retired to his own small sleeping chamber, where he could undress. He tugged free his rope headband, pulled off his headdress, untied his upper and lower veils, and took a deep breath. Then he scratched. Even cotton itched in the sticky heat of the late monsoon, and Nebyi had skipped shaving this morning. Much as he hated the fussing around with his iron razor, that had been a mistake. Itching was often an omen of changing fortune among the Dymati, and who wanted to walk around needlessly tense because he'd failed to scrape off his chin?

Arun or his wife Esha, good fortune to them, had filled the water jug in Nebyi's room, so he was able to take a quick scrub-bath over the basin. Then he scrambled back into the layers of robes he'd left stretched out and drying over the rack by the open window. Not fresh, but well enough for a market, he decided after a sniff and a grimace. Ah, for the great public baths of home. To be fair, the City also had its bathhouses, but they did Nebyi no good under the outlands restrictions.

Hiding his lower face with a robed arm from sheer habit, Nebyi looked out his window, which had a dizzying view of the river gorge below and the surrounding, building-covered hills. No one was looking back, but no one with a close view really could. More important, few clouds sailed the clear skies above. There'd be good weather for the market tonight. The monsoon season was ending and, with it, Nebyi's latest visit to the City. He might as well take most of his remaining silver coins with him this evening, just in case.

He went over to the coffer resting on the tiled floor by the head of his bed and knelt. The trader's coffer was Nebyi's most valuable possession, its engraved wards a gift crafted by his mother and her sisters working together. Resting a palm against the coffer's lid, he murmured, "chickpea," and "eclipse," words no porter would join if chattering while carrying the coffer around. The lid opened, and he sorted through the silk-wrapped packets of gems he'd already purchased this season: the aquamarines, the euclase and topazes, the blue and green tourmalines, to the last few purses nestled below. Only a fool packed gold coinage with his moonstones, peridots, and spinals, outbound to the City of Dark Gold. While on the Great Peninsula, Nebyi dealt in silver.

Weighing the heaviest purse against his palm as he considered, Nebyi leaned back on his heels. Then he tucked away the purse below his outer robes and took out two smaller purses before closing the lid of his coffer and picking up his short sword in its sheath. Most resident foreigners could not go armed in the City and had to depend on hired guards. Nebyi could carry a sword, having a trade partner sworn to bear the brunt of his misbehavior, and he did. He had a hunch that he should travel alone and swiftly tonight, and both his mother-kin and his trader brethren had always encouraged him to listen to his hunches. Even Raushan, that civilized sophisticate, respected the Voices Within.

Reminded of Raushan, Nebyi quickly donned all his veils, the lower, upper, and the headdress. He had to hurry with his woven rope headband when Raushan called out in the corridor, "Are you properly arrayed?"

"Yes." Beneath his lower veil, Nebyi felt himself grin as he opened the door. Raushan made something of a game out of trying, if not very hard, to catch him with his veils off. He hadn't succeeded yet.

For once, Raushan was garbed in the damasked black tunic and trousers appropriate to his caste, ones shimmering with the tiny blue tourmalines embroidered onto their patterns. If Nebyi ever had a bad trading season, he was going to make an offer on Raushan's formal trousers. He might do so anyhow one of these years, since he'd bet himself that Raushan would whip off his trousers as soon as the price was right and enjoy the chance to do so.

He was a show-off, if a justified one. To Nebyi's eyes, he was as beautifully shaped as a statue of a dancer carved from wood of the padauk and of about the same hue. His black hair waved and he even had large, dark, speaking eyes, the appalling rake.

Striking a pose, Raushan declaimed, "As for me, I am inarguably suitably arrayed."

"Until you puff up that chest of yours so high that someone mistakes you for a pigeon and serves you in a pomegranate sauce with a lovely saffron millet."

"Unfair, unfair." Taking Nebyi's arm, Raushan wandered toward the front door where Arun stood waiting. "Am I gray like a pigeon? No. Am I winged like a pigeon? No. Do I coo? Ah, yes, but at least my voice is lower than a pigeon's when I do so. Barely."

Nebyi almost suppressed his snicker. Spend a few months around Raushan, and you'd think Nebyi had never seen fifteen monsoons, let alone twenty-four.

Raushan looked reproachful. "Not everyone can rumble along like the Great Falls, the way you do."

They exited the front door Arun held open for them. Playing the proper Younger Brother, Nebyi opened the outer gate and followed Raushan through. Two litters waited in the narrow street outside. One was of the modern, fancy sort: all matched slave-bearers, gilded wood, and embroidered pillows. Nebyi wondered if that fleeting expression he'd seen on Raushan's face was a grimace. The other was a common sort with black, mesh curtains, the kind old matrons rented so they could spy on passers-by as they rode.

"Mustn't attract too much attention in the streets if you will go out alone," Raushan said.

He was right, worse fortune, and Nebyi should have thought of that problem. Resigned, he gave a slight bow. "Thank you. May your evening be gracious and fulfilling."

"I'll settle for either. Stay out of trouble, Younger Brother, or at least send along a messenger if you fail, so that I can play too."

With a snort, Nebyi marched over to climb into the hired litter. He did wait until Raushan's slave bearers had left before he told his own, "To the market stele of the goldsmiths," a destination that would leave him two streets over from the miner's market. He hadn't forgotten all the precautions.

 

II

 

Nebyi didn't attract much attention during his walk to the small square where the miner's market was held. Other outlanders, even a handful of Dymati, also traveled these streets during daytime; the local mines were amazingly rich and known across the three continents. At least Nebyi wasn't unique.

As darkness fell, he still saw a few foreigners among the passers-by in the goldsmith's quarter. But he saw none among the buyers wandering from blanket to blanket in the square, examining gemstones the miners had already placed on display before moonrise and this market's opening.

He chose his route to avoid notice. Edging along the buildings, he was well away from the towering braziers that illuminated the assembled sellers. Even so, he soon found his path blocked by one of the mountain mercenaries who filled many positions among the city's guards.

Everything about the guard rattled: turtle-scale armor, beaded shield, human teeth strung onto a necklace, ugh. "Where are you going?" the guard demanded, his voice a low, intimidating growl.

Heh. Nebyi had an even lower intimidating growl, but he wasn't wasting it. Silently, he held out the folded permit.

The guard took it, unfolded it. He peered at it and then at Nebyi's face. "How do I know this is yours?"

Could he actually read, was he hoping for some coins on the side, or did he merely want to make life difficult for a foreigner of a different sort than himself? Not that his motives mattered; Nebyi reached out and rested a fingertip on the clay seal, which glinted at his touch. This magical means of verifying documents was a good one, but not wholly proof against a rascal like Raushan.

"Fine," the guard said, and moved off. Wonder of the outlands, just doing his job.

As the full moon rose, the first round of trade was signaled by the sound of a gong. Nebyi recognized several of the gem agents who moved to place bids. Not so the slaver foremen assigned to watch the miners, who were standing around looking bored with their whips still looped and tied at their belts. But then, Dymati were enjoined by their gods to avoid the slave trade and those who staffed it, no matter how juicy the profits might be.

Outland traders soon learned slaves were terrible workers: slow, lackluster, and prone to breaking objects and tools if not watched all the time. And supervision was expensive. As the Crones liked to point out, the only reasonable thing to do with slaves who fell into your hands was to teach them the Civilized Tongue and some proper craft before freeing them to be clients. At least then you'd have a proper asset for your house or guild.

The slave miners squatting here looked like they'd been trained as chew-toys for the sacred crocodiles. Feh, crude and wasteful. Nebyi turned his attention back to the flow of trade.

As the buyers made the rounds of the market, Nebyi watched their hands and caught such words as he could. After a time, he felt his eyes narrow. These buyers were colluding to manipulate this market. Their bid increases were too small, too neat, hinting at previous agreements. The gem merchants were likely scheming to pay enough to coax away the stones from their discoverers and not a shaved bronze quarter-coin more.

Nebyi couldn't have said why he was so annoyed. This wasn't the first time he'd seen such a cabal at work. He'd made some sharp deals himself, if never one this far over the wavering border between trade and theft. But his skin seemed to crawl with his irritation.

If he made matters difficult for the Veiled People in the City of Dark Gold, Uncle Kirubel would strip off his hide and hand it over to his sire's sisters to tan into a sacred drum skin. And action would change nothing in the end, not about the way this market was conducted, not about the lot of the miners. Sensible thoughts, but useless ones. Nebyi was still going to act. Oh yes, he was. When the gong rang to start the second round of offers, he walked into the center of the square.

Going to the nearest buyer, Nebyi squatted down. The fellow was badly scarred, missing an ear and most of his teeth, but no mind. Nebyi pick up a small, raw tourmaline -- visibly flawed, nice color as far as he could tell, would need a good polish or one of the radical new cleavings to truly shine -- and examined it in the uncertain light from the braziers and the moon. "One and one-half silver," he said harshly, the middling bid he would usually have made and more than twice what he'd heard any of the gem factors offer. His fingers echoed his bid in trade sign.

Silently, the miner held out his hand, palm down. For the moment, Nebyi had high bid. Nebyi bowed and walked on, slipping his hand up a sleeve to shift a bead on one of the ledger bracelets he wore.

He sensed, rather than saw, the ripple of dismay following him as he moved around the market, placing honest bids. Some of the other buyers huddled, muttering among themselves. But they couldn't have Nebyi removed without making their collusion so obvious that the City official here, the Master of Trades and Markets, would be forced to take public note. Nebyi did see the guardsman who had accosted him truculently answering some questions. Sacred Purge, someone would check with Sour Cheese about sealing a permit for a foreigner. Never mind that now.

Between the second and third rounds, Nebyi checked his bracelets and summed up his offers. He'd committed all of his large purse's contents, all of the second's, and far more than he had in the third; he was taking a risk, if likely not a large one. At least he was being left alone. His attire must be adding to the effect created by his size, stance, and sword. Sometimes there was more than the usual reason to go veiled abroad.

As Nebyi had expected, when the gong rang for the third and final round, the bidding broke free and ran wild. The other buyers must have wasted their time complaining rather than patching together a new price agreement. Now they were struggling to outbid each other and Nebyi, likely ruining long-set agreements about who would get what and tromping on each other's toes as they did so.

Sure enough: "Eleven silver?" one buyer asked loudly enough to be overheard. "You thief."

"Oh? And who has been dumping flawed stones in the temple offerings, then?" his rival retorted.

"May your next bride-bid land you a bull waterhorse. One who favors sodomy."

Beneath his veils, Nebyi let himself grin like a shark. He imagined a hundred feuds would be born this night.

The last time around the blankets, Nebyi lost almost all of his bids, just as he'd intended. Even so, he'd be leaving tonight with some very nice, if minor, stones, a belly full of satisfaction, and a storm of trouble threatening to break over his head. He'd also have his work cut out to get away. Still shifting beads on his bracelets to track his spending, he squatted at the worn and dirty blanket of yet another seller.

During the previous round, most of the sellers hadn't reacted to his veils and good bids, although one or two had been amused and a few had looked afraid. This old miner -- he might be only a decade over Raushan's age, but hard work aged a person -- seemed sleepy. Nebyi examined the fellow's trio of stones again and repeated his initial bids, raising one slightly. The miner extended his hand three times, twice turned palm up and once turned palm down. Nebyi had lost two of the man's three gems to other buyers, a pity. As near as could be told in the light of braziers and moon, the shade of these stones approached the color of golden topazes, one of the twelve imperial gemstones, even if they were flawed. Nebyi should have raised all three bids.

He was about to rise from his squat when the miner extended scarred fingers to stop him. Reaching into his breechclout, the old man removed a knotted scrap of cloth. Untying the knot, he took out the gem it contained and laid it on the blanket before Nebyi. Nebyi felt his eyes widen slightly. A large, raw topaz, the size of Nebyi's thumbnail, lay before him, and one seemingly of the true, imperial coloring. He picked up the stone and turned it about, searching it for flaws in the uncertain light and finding none. Even if flawed, the crystal was still good enough for carving or a devotional offering.

There was a strange shimmer to the crystal's color; Nebyi was cursedly hindered by this light. He needed to check the stone. Putting down the topaz, he reached into his robes and took out his piece of ceramic tile and the string of small gems he used for testing before extending them toward the old miner. The man shook his head in assent.

Right hardness, right streak; in the spirit of the evening, Nebyi took a gamble. "Two hundred silver," he said, barely loud enough for the fellow to hear and much too quietly for the other buyers to overhear. His fingers almost flickered, echoing the offer. There went Nebyi's entire large purse.

The miner extended his hand, palm down. Then he picked up the stone, wrapped it in his scrap of cloth, retied it into a knot, and returned the knot to his breechclout. Behind the protection of his veils, Nebyi grimaced in amazement. The old miner had the right to sell his find to a foreigner, but Nebyi was astonished he still had the spirit after what must be years of harsh servitude. There was something in the moonlight tonight; Nebyi should make offerings to the Lady of Omens and the moon-god of the Great Peninsula in the morning.

He had to hurry to offer at the other blankets after bidding on the old miner's topaz, and the gong sounded soon after he'd finished. Chaos broke out when the buyers went to claim their purchases; buyers rushed about in a near frenzy, snatching up stones like cut-price merchandise and fighting with each other right in front of the slave miners.

Nebyi couldn't say he went unnoticed as he paid for his own purchases. "Pox-ridden curtain-chewer," one buyer snarled. Another spat at him. In other circumstances, Nebyi might have responded. Now, though, he ignored the insults, moving quickly to collect the raw gems he had won.

When he squatted before the old miner, Nebyi shifted so his robes blocked the sight of his payment. There was no sense in getting the old fellow killed before he could enjoy his loot. And two hundred silver was a lot of loot to enjoy. Considering the rough shape the miner was in, his price might have dropped low enough that he'd be able to buy himself out of the mines with enough left over for a stake. "Good fortune," he told the man, tucking away the stone securely retied into its scrap of cloth.

"And to you, young ser," the miner said with a strange kind of grin. But Nebyi didn't have time for curiosity now. After paying two more sellers, he'd be done. He didn't mean to linger and learn if any of his fellow buyers had sobered enough from their shock to be interested in recovering their evening's lost profits at his expense.

Even if his behavior at this market proved he was more of a fool than he'd thought he was, Nebyi still wasn't proud. He meant to flee. Quickly tying his bag of gems beneath his outer robes, he strode the length of three buildings down the poorly lit side street and then broke into a run. The time was late enough that none of the district's residents would want to investigate running feet, which would save Nebyi from at least one source of trouble. He wouldn't be saved from night lurkers, of course. That was one reason he'd worn his sword. Maybe the bright moonlight would help.

To Nebyi's amazement, although he saw dark shapes move in at least two of the alleys he passed, nobody tried to stop him. He pounded up the steeply sloped street, following its zigs and zags to a small intersection, and then turned left to rush down a long stairway to the silversmith's district, taking the steps two or three at a time when he could. At the bottom of the stairs, he hurried across a plaza into a wide, lamp-lit street where he slowed to a quick walk. Forcing his breathing to quiet, he listened as he strode along. His fortune had held. He heard no footsteps hurrying up behind him. Nebyi made himself take his hand off his sword hilt.

A tavern favored by gilders was just past this first bend. Outside it -- the gods remained merciful -- his bearers squatted next to his hired litter, by all appearances waiting for the homeward journey of some foresighted tippler or smoker inside. Nebyi's earlier precautions had borne fruit.

Also by the blessing of the spirit of his motherhouse, Nebyi had enough coins left for the trip. He had his bearers trot a circuitous route to Raushan's house and then tipped them well, if not exorbitantly enough to hint that something more exciting had occurred than a visit to a married lover.

When the litter left, Nebyi knocked the three and two pattern that would summon Arun to the gate after dark. After he'd been inspected and admitted into the small courtyard, he asked, "Has my Elder Brother returned from his symposium?"

"He has," Arun answered. "He awaits you in his study."

"My thanks." He went to warn Raushan of the trouble trailing Nebyi home.

***

Nebyi got about what he deserved for his impulsive behavior at the market. He'd rarely seen Raushan taken out of himself, whether from drink, smoke, or the high caste's chewed leaves of bliss. But if asked to predict how such a vision would look, he'd have imagined about what he saw when he entered the study, untying his sword belt.

Naked save for his trousers, Raushan reclined on one of the room's two couches, a flagon of barley water sitting forgotten on the inlaid table beside him. He hummed as he flipped the pages of the folded bamboo scroll sharing the couch with him, smiling as he examined the pictures on their slatted pages. All Nebyi could see of the pictures from this distance was some lovely multicolored borders and a lot of bare skin. Raushan also showed a lot of bare skin. In the light of the brass lamps hanging from their chains behind him, his well-shaped body glistened from perfumed oil, appropriate to partygoers of his caste.

Nebyi sat down on the small room's other couch with a sigh, setting his sword to one side. Raushan looked up. He smiled sweetly, his lips full and lush from whatever his evening's occupations had been. Then his head tilted just a little as he asked, "Bad time at the miner's market?"

"Rather, I was bad at the miner's market." Nebyi stared down at his folded hands, feeling gloomy. "I don't know what spirit moved me." Perhaps it was the same spirit that now led him to mutter, "And I return to find you looking the way that certain someone should have looked on the eve of my first tryst."

Nebyi glanced up at a choked-off noise from Raushan. After trying to hide his laugh behind his upraised hand, Raushan lowered it to say, "My thanks. A sweet compliment." With an expression Nebyi could only call a gentle leer, he added, "I would have been honored to, ah, substitute in the interests of your education."

"How kind. Too late now."

"Is it?" Raushan smiled, and then changed expressions to a smolder as he ran his fingertips slowly from the dusting of hair in the middle of his chest, across his sculpted stomach, and down toward the tie of his trousers.

The noise Nebyi made, as his skin seemed to prickle with heat, should have come from a duck. "Sorry to interrupt you when you've been chewing or drinking, maybe both, but I really did come home trailing--" He paused to glare. "Would you stop that? I don't know what you think could happen, what with me in all these robes and veils, and likely as ugly to your eyes as the butt end of a bullock beneath. I should be beyond such games anyhow, having reached the age of siring." He hated how prissy his voice went on the last sentence.

As requested, Raushan did stop. He even shifted his hand although that wasn't very helpful, considering what his hand had been covering. Nebyi stared rather helplessly. He'd always been too fond of what youth did with youth to wile away the time and tensions of their various apprenticeships, but this sight would challenge anyone not blind. Of course Raushan would be gifted that way, too. Of course.

Raushan's voice was husky. "I'm sure I could think of something to do that wouldn't break your outland laws." He was up on his feet and moving, to crouch gracefully down in front of Nebyi, who realized he'd been staring at Raushan like a spellbound chicken.

Swallowing, Nebyi said, "No, truly, I'm as ugly as a, uh, toad under all this. Really unappealing. And we native Dymati use, ah, cow dung to ward off insects at night." Oh, here was some wonderful lying. How had Nebyi ever closed a successful deal?

Sure enough, Raushan frowned. "I think I would have noticed dung at some point during the years I've known the Dymati." He sniffed a few times. "No, not a trace of a herdsman's anointing." Even worse, his hands were now between Nebyi's legs, pressing down through the fabric to find and cradle what they sought. "I can certainly do something with all this," he said, tone coaxing. "And I don't care what you look like. I miss you."

Those last words were...strange. They were strange enough to distract Nebyi from the hot pleasure of Raushan's hands playing prospector around his hardening cock. 

Nebyi didn't yank away. He only leaned forward and shifted so the side of his veiled face rested against Raushan's own. Almost sighing the words, he said, "Truly, dear Elder Brother in Trade, I've gotten us in trouble."

The hands against him quieted. Nebyi wondered if Raushan could feel the muscles of Nebyi's legs twitch beneath the robes. "Have you?"

"Yes." Nebyi let himself rub his cheek against Raushan's, once. Any more than that, and the fabric of the lower veil might chafe.

"Curse all the gems and their bearers." Raushan shifted his hands. Involuntarily, Nebyi's hips thrust, pursuing their touch. "And here I've gone and distracted you."

"Excellent distraction. Highest quality, truly." For a moment, Nebyi wrapped his arms around Raushan and hugged him hard. "But I am too old, and we are in trouble. My fault. Also, you're drunk." He let go.

"Oof. You great bull calf. No, not drunk, taken aloft by the leaves." Raushan leaned back and away. "No better excuse, but at least I won't be left stupid by them, only impulsive." He rose easily to his feet, which put his own acute interest closer to the level of Nebyi's eyes. There was a moment's pause, and Raushan said, "Would you mind altering that speaking posture of yours?"

Nebyi smiled. He knew it would show in his voice. "Sorry."

"As am I." Raushan's smile in return was warm, especially considering how he must be feeling just now. Returning to his couch, he sprawled out on it again, one hand draped over the most significant alteration in his appearance. "Tell your tale."

"Don't expect good order."

"I don't."

Taking a deep breath, Nebyi recounted his visit to the miner's market and the chaos he'd caused. Raushan listened, his expression intent, not seeming to notice the way his hand stroked gently, from time to time, across the swell in his trousers. Nebyi tried not to notice, either. With Raushan having chewed, this sort of behavior was about the best that could be expected.

At least, when Nebyi finished his story, Raushan was frowning, proof he'd been paying attention. "You are right. Playing at breaking their little cabal might cause trouble. I'm more worried about the political toll, though. The temples and the City officials have been jostling for these past few generations. If the priests learn that the Master of Trade and Temples has helped subvert a sacred market--" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Perhaps the official was merely stupid and corrupt. I still predict trouble. Riots, for example. There are usually riots."

"At least I got some good stones."

"Did you?" His interest was genuine. As Nebyi's local trade partner, Raushan would earn a third-share, of course. But Nebyi knew Raushan was also fascinated by the lore and legends of gems, an interest that could likely be traced to his illustrious ancestor and supposed former incarnation, the gem magus. In any case, Raushan enjoyed gemstones nearly as much as he liked sex or his little magi tricks.

Nebyi stood up so he could get at the sack he'd used to hold his purchases. "Want to see? I should sort and check them, anyhow. They must have gotten jumbled as I ran. Maybe damaged."

When he tugged at his robes, pulling them hard against his legs for a moment, Raushan said, "Strapping. Not too toad-like."

"You're not supposed to notice."

"I think we're beyond that." As Nebyi removed the sack, Raushan said, "Ah, I thought I groped something lumpier than usual down there."

Nebyi snorted. "If I'd gotten into a sword fight, I could have shifted the sack over and protected my future at the expense of my profits. Not that I did any fighting. I don't know why no one came at me from an alley, the way I was running."

After considering this, Raushan turned his unoccupied hand palm up. "The gods, they know." The hand turned palm down. "Shall we see the goods?"

"I don't suppose you could stop first." Nebyi made a gesture with the bag toward the other hand, the one on Raushan's...groin.

"Stop? Oh, that." Raushan smiled sweetly and moved his hand at last. "I don't suppose you would care to aid a fellow sufferer?"

Nebyi took a deep breath and then released it. "Trade. No, I mean concentrate on trade. Trading gems."

Raushan laughed, and said, "Fine, distract me." He moved the flagon off his table. 

Nebyi squatted on his heels to spread out his purchases of the evening across the mother-of-pearl inlay. They sorted the stones between them. The light of the lamps was better than that in the market, but still not enough to check some of the fine points of color and clarity. After a time of mild frustration, Raushan responded with an impatient noise.

Raising a hand, he traced something with his forefinger in the air, a shape that Nebyi's mind could almost encompass. A bead of light appeared just below the ceiling by the lamp chains, brightening until the room was lit as if by a noon sun. Nebyi's chin jerked up and he stared, first at the light and then at Raushan.

For a male, Nebyi knew his mysteries. His mother and aunts didn't tolerate ignorance and they wanted to hear informed details about whatever magic he might see outland. So, he knew this display was well beyond any Magi trick Raushan had used before in Nebyi's company, and of a potency Nebyi had only ever seen in his homeland or recounted in books of legends.

Looking away from his working, Raushan caught Nebyi's posture, and his face went sheepish. "Can we call that another result of the leaves?"

"I'm impressed. Few can do such work among the Dymati."

"I have heard tell of your Crones." Raushan bowed his head in tribute, his posture very high caste. "As for the working, this current Raushan retains something of what it once was, to be The Raushan."

Sensing tension under the elegant gesture, Nebyi forced himself to relax. Making sure his own posture was easy under his robes and veils, he teased, "You've been holding out like a good trader. You were right; telling a truth like that, and for free, must have been a result of the leaves."

For a moment, Raushan's smile was relieved before it shifted to seductive. "And frustrated lust. Don't forget frustrated lust."

Involuntarily, Nebyi's gaze moved down. Raushan was still hard. Seemingly, gems weren't as distracting as they might be, this night. The sight wasn't making Nebyi's restraint any easier.

All at once, Raushan reached over the table to capture Nebyi's hands. "Surely there must be some latitude for you traders, alone among alien peoples."

Nebyi went still, feeling his pulse speed back up. The air between them seemed to thicken. Then Raushan let go, saying, "I'm pressing you too hard. I apologize."

Oddly, Raushan's hesitation sold his deal. "Some trader you are, apologizing for hard bargaining," Standing from his easy squat, Nebyi came over to the couch. "Move. Make room."

Raushan stilled. Then he raised his legs and once more slid back to recline on his couch, each movement graceful and cautious. Also cautious, Nebyi sat beside him on the edge of the couch, listening for the ominous groan of overburdened furniture. Raising his eyebrows in languorous query, Raushan asked, "You think I would commission furniture without Dymati in mind?"

"I don't think about that. I think about buying your formal trousers, sometimes," Nebyi said as he reached for the tie at Raushan's waist.

"Do you? Rather than their contents?"

Nebyi considered. "What gems are encrusted on your breechclout?"

"Now, why--" Raushan stopped. "You were jesting." He sounded pleased when he added, "And you caught me in your joke."

"Not then. I didn't catch you then." It was Nebyi's turn to explore, sliding his hands into the waistband and beneath fine damasked cotton, searching under Raushan's thin breechclout for his prey. Oh, a fine cock and a hard one, ready for battle. "Perhaps I'll catch you now. Shift your hips."

Raising his hips, Raushan said, "Ah. How I appreciate you." His eyelids fluttered shut.

"You should." He'd already worked the trousers down over Raushan's thighs, so Nebyi tugged loose the breechclout ties. Below it, the curls at Raushan's groin were dusky black, and his cock rose full and firm, flushed dark as the veins in rosewood, with the slight curve to its length as lovely as all else about him. Really, he was ridiculously attractive, Nebyi thought, as he wrapped Raushan's cock in one hand. He slid his fist along the slightly loose skin, enjoying the sight of the exposed crest almost enveloped and then revealed again in Nebyi's grip as he worked.

Raushan spread his legs wide and arched up into Nebyi's fist. He opened his eyes to say, "This should, hmm, eliminate my distraction."

"It had better," Nebyi growled.

Shuddering with pleasure at the deep-toned words, Raushan closed his eyes again.

With a smile, Nebyi paused to caress the soft crest of Raushan's cock, his thumb gently touching slick, delicate skin. Then he explored what had formerly been visible only to his imagination. As he once more worked Raushan with hard, brisk strokes, he still had a hand free to roughly trace Raushan's thighs, carefully stroke his testes, caress the silk-smooth scrap of skin further back. His forefinger slid on before retreating.

He glanced up to find he was being watched. Raushan's eyes were dark as he said, "If you would."

"I don't have any--"

"I truly don't care."

Nebyi hunched one shoulder in wry amusement, and moved his finger back again. Then he pushed into tight heat. He felt Raushan's cock shift in his grip, and timed the work of his finger to match the work of his hand.

Not much more was needed after that. Absently, Nebyi wondered if Raushan knew he was grunting. The grunts were lovely, but they were still grunts. As if the thought had been some cue, Raushan made a choking noise and spent, hard and long. He spilled seed across Nebyi's hand and his own belly, his hips jerking, and then collapsed back against the couch with a sigh. Afterward he reached to grip a fist into Nebyi's robes, hard. "Don't move," he said, his voice dark and rough as a stormy night at sea.

As if Nebyi could move. He stared down at the spatters across Raushan's skin, and swallowed, his throat dry. Pearls, he thought, opals, and then snorted at the horrible, horrible clichés.

"Don't turn into a congested water buffalo, either." Letting go, Raushan levered himself up onto his elbows. "I'll clean us up." Reaching down, he undid the tangle of cloth around his thighs that had formerly been his breechclout and used it to wipe off both his skin and Nebyi's hands. Afterward, quite naked, he gathered up his formal trousers with one hand and said, "We'll talk about a price for these later."

"Oh, good," Nebyi said faintly.

Flinging the trousers in the general direction of a corner, Raushan added, "Stand up."

Nebyi did, at once, before he somehow thought to say, "Raushan--"

Raushan knelt on the floor by the couch and smiled up at him in a way that was likely meant to be reassuring. "No, no, I won't try anything much until I learn all your mores and prescriptions." He was sliding his hands under the robes as he spoke, running them up the muscles of Nebyi's legs. "Hmm, strapping indeed. And not the least bit toad-like."

"You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Of course not." Now Raushan was untying the breechclout beneath Nebyi's robes with frightening ease for someone who couldn't see what he was doing. "Bad lying should be admonished. What was I saying? Oh, yes. When I realized how, um, vital you Dymati were behind all your veils, I learned everything I could about your intimate ways. That wasn't much. But you've just taught me that one act, at least, is not taboo."

He had the breechclout out of the way at last, and his hands found their target. Nebyi let out a ragged gasp mixing pleasure and relief at the firm and knowing touch. He almost staggered with the surge of heat to his groin. "Brace up," Raushan said, and, "Here we are," and, "By the gems," sounding impressed.

"I can't last," Nebyi said, already wild with the stroking. Even his buttocks were clenching.

"Then don't," Raushan said, and worked Nebyi's cock in a sweetly brutal grasp.

A double handful of breaths later and Nebyi leaned forward to clutch hard at Raushan's shoulders. "Ngh," he choked out as he came. "Raushan," he managed, more toward the end of the surges.

"Why, yes," Raushan said, now softly caressing Nebyi with both hands. "Yes." As Nebyi leaned against him panting, Raushan found Nebyi's breechclout on the floor and cleaned up once again, before freeing his hands and arms from the robes.

"I hope we didn't knock the barley water over," Nebyi finally managed to say.

"No," Raushan said, his tone somewhere between annoyed and amused, "but we did jostle the table. There are stones on the floor. Don't shift that foot; you'll step on a tourmaline."

Of course Nebyi's first tryst with Raushan would end with Nebyi on his hands and knees. But, also of course, the posture couldn't be for fun. They both searched around the study floor for the stones which had, predictably, bounced and skittered everywhere.

"Didn't you notice?" Nebyi asked as he dumped the nice, near-imperial topaz back onto the table. He should have raised those bids on the old miner's other two stones, bad fortune and worse sense.

"Also busy at the time, yes?" Raushan's voice was muffled. He'd squirmed under his couch to make sure no fugitives had taken refuge there. "What's this?" He slithered backwards to hold up a small, knotted twist of dirty cloth.

Nebyi recovered from the sight of a naked Raushan slithering -- chafing problems, surely? -- and snatched the cloth from him. "That's my best find of the evening. I told you about that."

"Not in any detail." Sitting cross-legged, Raushan raised his hand, palm up. "Show me."

Undoing the knot, Nebyi shook out the scrap of cloth over Raushan's hand. The topaz it held fell into Raushan's palm. When the stone touched skin, it shone with a golden brilliance far brighter than the bead of light overhead.

III

 

One of Nebyi's hands shielded his eyes. The other swung up to knock the topaz from Raushan's hand. But Raushan's hand was turning, and Nebyi's skin touched stone.

He saw...the great sun in all its brilliance, and its power shining outward. Massed armies marched, great cities arose, temples carved themselves from the sides of mountains. Men soared like eagles, swam like sharks, burned forests and dried rivers with the intricate, gem-pure lines of power etched into creation by the gestures of their hands. And he saw Raushan, always Raushan even behind unfamiliar features, beautiful and languid in robes richer and more intricate than any Nebyi could imagine him wearing. But this Raushan had the tiny twist to the corner of his mouth that appeared only when Raushan felt he'd made a poor trade.

Then Nebyi's head was twisted to one side. His cheek stung; he faintly tasted blood. He'd been slapped. A strong and familiar hand was on his shoulder. Raushan must have slapped him. Another familiar hand was touching, uncertainly, his lower veil.

"Don't," Nebyi found his voice to say.

Raushan stepped back, his expression relieved.

Nebyi worked his jaw. "You wouldn't think a slap could do damage through the veil, would you? No, don't get that look."

"What look?" The question was innocent, but faint guilt still lingered in Raushan's eyes.

"I've been brought back with a slap before. The visions were from the topaz, yes?"

He was studied for a few heartbeats before Raushan said, "Yes." Then, as if someone had snapped the sticks of a shadow puppet, he sank down onto the couch behind him, cradling one hand in the other. Nebyi stepped toward him and stopped. He could see the topaz was imbedded in Raushan's palm. Even as he watched, the stone seemed to sink deeper into flesh, skin slowly creeping up its sides.

Nebyi bit his lower lip. Then he said, "A knife--"

"No. It would only find me again." Raushan's tone was flat, dead. "After all these lifetimes." Then his eyes narrowed. Nebyi saw the annoyance with relief. "Cursed thing." Raushan shook his hand hard, palm down. The gem ignored both him and the attraction of the earth below. "Returned to me via Nebyi, hmm? Heh, heh, heh. So very funny."

"Will it hurt--" This time Nebyi stopped himself. He swallowed as his mind pieced the mosaic together.

Now he needed to sit. He sank down, cross-legged, onto the floor as if the study was a room in his own motherhouse. He had gathered all the tiles he needed to create this mosaic from his mother's lessons, his uncle's lectures, and even Raushan's wry comments during the several seasons Nebyi had guested with him.

Long ago, there had been only quarreling small kingdoms and principalities in the Great Peninsula. Then, or so legend and chronicles both claimed, the gem magi had appeared, granted power by the gods to raise high the jeweled throne of the first Emperor. The Old Empire endured through centuries of blood and glory, lasted until the magi turned away from each other to their own, petty concerns. Then came the fall, taking still more centuries. And now there were again only quarreling small kingdoms and principalities in the Great Peninsula.

"You are Raushan," Nebyi said slowly.

"You've guessed my name," Raushan said from between gritted teeth, "and here I was trying to surprise you."

"The Raushan, I mean, the reborn wielder of a gem of power. I thought the gem in the old stories was merely a symbol and your title a pious legend." Nebyi frowned. "What are you doing?"

Raushan was frantically shaking his hand. "I forgot. This itches."

Nebyi leapt up, almost jostling the small table again, to seize Raushan's wrist. "Don't scratch!" Raushan gave him an incredulous look, and Nebyi added, "You'll open the wound and allow poisons to enter." Raushan looked at him some more. The true gem-magus Raushan looked at him some more. "Or not," Nebyi finished weakly.

To cover his embarrassment, Nebyi examined the stone again. The skin had just finished closing over it, and now the lump seemed to be slowly shifting. "What is it doing?"

"Moving." Raushan also gazed down at his hand, his face glum. "It will reemerge in the middle of my forehead, right where everyone can have a good view. Do you think it's too late to adopt veils?"

"When I said I'd brought back trouble from the market, this isn't what I meant."

"Heh. You wait. This is nothing. Every oracle on the Peninsula will be having fits." Nebyi winced, and Raushan continued, "Even as we speak, two-headed calves are being born."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Hairy stars will streak across the sky. Lightning will strike temples. Statues will prophecy. Birds will fly upside-down. Oh, and wait until the sacred crocodiles show up. They're persistent."

"Never mind all that. Is anyone going to try and kill you for the gem? Or kill you to control your next reincarnation, for that matter?"

Raushan's expression shifted from slightly panicky gloom to nonplussed, and then on to...embarrassed? "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Why ever not?"

"Oh, ah."

"Tell me. I need to know. I'm sworn to you as your Younger Brother in Trade." Nebyi paused, let go of Raushan's wrist. "Your trade partner. Responsible for your actions and losses under both law and pact." He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm your friend. We did, ah, that together, didn't we?"

"Do you only ever do 'that' with friends? Never mind, you're right. Righter than you know." Raushan started to run his hand through his curls, stopped, looked at the lump that had crept up to the heel of his hand, and changed hands. "Very well. I am the Raushan." He tugged at a curl, strangely nervous.

Nebyi waited.

"The Raushan. The Imperial Raushan, not a reborn descendent. The Raushan who was the most reluctant and ineffectual magus you can imagine, always in opposition, never in concord. The last of us left incarnate, still stuck here after the fall of the Old Empire. The gods' idea of a joke Raushan."

After a moment to stare, Nebyi said, "You don't look older than the Old Empire." He merely looked beautiful, if ridiculously, flawlessly beautiful. He looked more than humanly beautiful, really. "You don't even resemble the temple portraits of the gem-magus Raushan."

"Well, I am older. Not wiser, a trait I prove doesn't lock steps with age. I've often thought that's why reincarnation-- Anyhow, I can alter my appearance, slowly." Raushan folded his arms across his chest, having donned the innocent, you-didn't-truly-see-that expression of a man caught loading the sexual dice. Somehow his attitude was more convincing than three drink's worth of arguments would have been.

"Very well," Nebyi said slowly. "Back to the omens."

Raushan frowned. "I wonder how long it will be before someone spots where the omens are pointing."

"Does it matter? If you're becoming a true gem magus again, can't you make everyone leave you alone?"

"There's the problem, you see. I don't want to make everyone do anything, given how well that worked out last time. Besides, the greatest power arises from all the gems working in council." Then his eyes widened. His voice was quiet when he asked, "I wonder if the other gems are returning?" and his horrified gaze shifted to meet Nebyi's.

Nebyi envisioned twelve stones of tremendous power reappearing, one by one, on a Great Peninsula now tied into the web of the Three Continent's trade routes. He considered imperial history. Then he went to snatch up his sword from where it rested on the couch across the room. "We both need to leave. You need time to sort this out, and it sounds like someone may be looking for you soon."

"Right. I'll speak with Arun and Esha. I already have plans in place, just in case of difficulties in the City." Raushan was scooping the other gems off his table and back into their bag as he spoke. "Get your coffer and trail pack. We'll have to leave the rest." Finishing, he headed for the door.

"Raushan." Raushan turned. "Naked."

Raushan blinked. Then he laughed. Then he said, "Why, yes," and handed the bag of gems to Nebyi before donning his trousers.

Uncle Kirubel's eighth rule required that, when you needed to leave, you left quickly. Nebyi hurried to his room, used the chamber pot, and washed. Picking up his coffer -- so much lighter than it should be, thank you, Mother, thank you, Aunties -- he slid it sideways into his pack on top of his travel bedroll. He stuffed his tight-rolled extra robes and veils around it, added the gem bag, and threw in some breechclouts. After rolling up the wide strip of oiled cloth sewn with pockets in which he stored his knife, flint striker, razor, bronze mirror, and ensorcelled sliver of iron, he was done. The roll went in on top, and he tied his pack shut. Then, heaving it up by the straps, he went to join Raushan.

Raushan was out in the entrance hall. His own pack, surprisingly worn and made of sensible, oiled leather, sat on the floor beside him; he was dressed in the traveling robes of an affluent scribe-clerk, complete with a hood meant to shield him from the sun. As Nebyi came in, he was talking to Esha. "--you two go overland to Green Trees. I've made sure no one there can connect you with--" He looked up to see Nebyi. "Good. Arun is out seeing about litters."

Even as he spoke, the front doors opened, admitting a chaotic surge of noise from the courtyard. Arun also entered, looking as rattled as Nebyi had ever seen him. He still whirled to close and bar the doors against the crunchings, clashings, and screams before he turned back to Raushan to say, "Private guardsmen, Venerable, and city merchants."

Raushan tilted his head. "That horrible noise in the street is coming from guardsmen and merchants?"

"Another group is involved. The mercantile party seems to have encountered," Arun swallowed, but continued sturdily, "crocodiles."

The pause was brief. "Right," Raushan said. "So much for manipulating a sacred market. Out we go. Arun, Esha, get your packs and follow us. Don't forget to bar the kitchen door."

His servants barely paused to bow before they fled toward their small room next to the kitchen. Raushan, for his part, grabbed Nebyi and dragged him into the bathing room.

"The drain?" Nebyi asked.

"'Smart' is a wonderful word to pair with 'partner,'" Raushan replied. Handing his pack to Nebyi, he knelt on the tiled floor, worked his fingers into the bronze grating, and heaved. Muscles stood out as he used all that odd strength Nebyi had often noticed, a result of his tinkering with his body, Nebyi supposed. Then not just the grate, but also the surrounding tiles, came loose. As Raushan heaved the trap to one side, Nebyi could see that a short sleeve of fake drain-wall attached to the bottom of the grate had come up, too.

Raushan stood before making another of those nearly-possible-to-comprehend gestures, this time directed toward the open hole. Again, a bead of brightness flared, floating down to illuminate a square shaft with rungs carved deeply into the stone of one side.

"Can I be impressed later?" Nebyi asked, kilting up his robes so he could climb.

"Do. This took a great deal of work. It was costly, too. Climb down, and I'll drop our packs. Be careful, though; the rungs may be slimy."

"Oh, really?" Nebyi sat down on the edge of the shaft, turned onto his stomach, and felt for the first rung with a foot.

The rungs were, in fact, slimy. They went down three or four man-heights before they ended across from an opening in the opposite wall. Below Nebyi's feet, the shaft pinched down into a small hole the width of a conventional drain, leaving a wide lip all around the shaft where he could stand. He shuffled over into the tunnel, and called up, "Drop the packs." When they'd landed, he grabbed and dragged them a short way down the tunnel, clearing the shaft so Raushan could descend.

He wasn't much surprised to hear the thumps of two more packs instead, followed by Arun climbing down the rungs. Esha slowly followed her husband, carefully holding a bronze lamp by its handle in one hand while climbing with the other. They could barely squeeze past Nebyi in the tunnel.

"We'll go ahead, young ser," Arun said. He picked up their packs from where Nebyi had moved them out of the way. His wife had turned her attention to lighting the lamp with a striker. "We know our route, and we'll be traveling in a different direction than you after a bit."

"You'll be safe?"

Esha laughed. "Safer than keeping company with either private guards or crocodiles."

Nebyi had to agree. He watched their light disappear around a curve in the tunnel before he turned back to look for Raushan.

Leaning out from the tunnel into the shaft, he saw Raushan descending. When Raushan's feet reached the bottom of the rungs, he paused and looped one arm through a higher rung. Then he raised his other hand above his head. Nebyi could hear him breathe deeply, as if he was preparing to make an effort.

Two heartbeats passed, and the bead of light up in the shaft went out. In the sudden, complete dark, Nebyi heard a loud grating noise above them, followed by a clanging thud. Silence fell, broken only by Raushan's harsh breathing and a rasping whisper high overhead, as if stone was caressing stone. After a few more breaths, that noise also stilled.

"There," Raushan said, loud in the dark, "That may hide our trail."

"You closed the trap. Sealed it."

"Yes." Raushan's voice had drawn nearer, and now he was close to Nebyi. No, he was crowding Nebyi back against the tunnel wall. The press of Raushan's body, the heat of his touch, and the scent of his skin were wonderful. His timing was not.

His face rested against Nebyi's veils. "I enjoy the dark." One of his legs was sliding between Nebyi's, the slow rub incendiary even through robes. "You can't see anything, including what you're not supposed to see." Suddenly, shockingly, his lips were against a patch of bare skin just above Nebyi's collar, exposed by Raushan's tugging at the lower veil. That hot, wet caress, Nebyi thought vaguely, must be from Raushan's tongue.

"Aren't we fleeing? From guards?" Thank the Lady of Fortune, Nebyi then thought to add, "Sacred crocodiles?"

Raushan stiffened against him. "Those cursed beasts. They're probably crawling in our direction even now."

That wasn't what Nebyi wanted to hear in a pitch-black tunnel somewhere deep within a hill. He couldn't be entirely sorry when, with a pained sigh, Raushan pulled away. "What a waste of an opportunity," he said, but his words sounded slightly sheepish to Nebyi's experienced ears.

A few heartbeats later and the tunnel was suddenly lit by yet another of the tiny sun-beads. Nebyi sidled past Raushan to pick up his pack. "Are we leaving?"

"We're leaving."

***

They walked with the bead of light bobbing along just in front of them. The tunnel went on for a good, long distance before one wall opened up into an archway at the head of a flight of stairs descending into darkness. Nebyi glanced at the nice, level tunnel ahead of them and then at the stairs. He didn't even have to ask. They'd be taking the stairs. Again, he followed Raushan.

After a bit, "I hope you didn't pay to build all of this," Nebyi said. He hadn't wanted to speak before. Their steps had echoed strangely in the tunnel.

"Certainly not. I crafted much of this myself, back when I was regent to my gem." The sounds of their voices in the stairwell weren't too bad.

Nebyi considered his vision of mountains melting into temples and the power that must have taken. "Where's the topaz?"

"Working up past the inside of my elbow. I'm rather grateful for the distraction of fleeing for my freedom, if not for my life."

"Sense any crocodiles?"

"I didn't sense the first lot. I'm not a true magus any more. Again. Yet."

Silence fell as they saved their breath for more descending. Being of Raushan's design, the stairs were a nice height and width for a long climb. After a while, Nebyi said, "You have allies among the river tribesmen."

"I do, clever Younger Brother in Trade."

The only reason Nebyi could imagine for this descent was to drop them deep into the gorge, down to the level of the river. Even considering portage around rapids, travel via the dugout boats of the river tribesmen would be a much faster way to journey than overland by ox-cart. With good fortune, they could leave the lands controlled by The City of Dark Gold before Raushan was identified as having caused all the fuss and foretelling. After that-- "Where do you mean to go?" he asked Raushan.

"I'm not sure. I'll need to find a refuge for a week or two while I adjust. And while I try to find out what the -- blessed -- thing wants this time."

Nebyi would have to flee to the coast, quick as he could, to chance an early, stormy voyage back to Dymat. The Crones would want to know if the stones of the magi were returning. But the thought of abandoning Raushan while he was still vulnerable to political factions and carnivorous crocodiles made Nebyi feel a little ill. "I can stay with you for that while."

"You can. Will you?"

"I will."

"Dear Nebyi. Curse these stairs. No, just as well. Thank you."

"Thank me later." Even from behind him, Nebyi could sense Raushan's grin. "No, not that way. How you keep your mind on business long enough to trade, I sometimes wonder."

"Don't judge from my current state, distracted by both the leaves and my favorite Dymati. Trade, like sex, exhibits personalities and the possibilities of beauty, ethics, and skill. It is thus, like sex, fascinating. Not much longer now."

The stairs ended in a tunnel that went on for about two man-lengths before stopping at a stone wall. Nebyi examined the wall and then studied the old, corroded maul leaning up against the stones. "Secret door?"

"We break through."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Nebyi stepped forward to pick up the maul, but Raushan stopped him.

"Permit me, please. I know where the weak spots are."

Nebyi moved back to give Raushan room. It didn't take many blows to clear out enough stones to enter another tunnel, but they were both coughing from the dust by the time Raushan was done.

This new tunnel smelled of stale, still air that hadn't been disturbed in years. A quick walk ended at yet another stone wall, this one with iron rings set into it. "Here's the secret door," Raushan said as he grasped the rings.

He was enjoying himself now, Nebyi could tell. "I'm not sure you made this complicated enough."

"If you want your secret ways to go undetected for decades at a time..." The wall shifted under Raushan's hands and slid with a drawn-out, grating noise. They were left staring at bales of what Nebyi recognized as jute.

"Ah. This was supposed to be only a bit of ancient wall in an abandoned building constructed against the cliffside by the lower docks," Raushan said.

"That's merchants for you," Nebyi said with a turned-up palm. "See a wall, use a wall."

Raushan's reply was to rub two of his fingertips together, dimming the bead of light that had stayed with them throughout their descent.

Nebyi would be willing to bet that only their need to be quiet kept Raushan from complaining during the job of shifting jute, crawling through the gap, sliding the secret door closed, and moving jute back to hide their path. By the time they were done, Nebyi was trembling a little with fatigue. This had been a wild night, and he had asked a lot from his body.

"Not much more," Raushan said softly, next to Nebyi's ear. He was right. They made their way through the stacked bales and amphora in this warehouse to its front door. Like most doors, it was meant to keep intruders out, not occupants in, and certainly wasn't designed with magi in mind. A fast fiddle, the bead of light extinguished, and they were out by the dock. Nebyi was pleased that Raushan paused to secure the door behind them, even if that might be unwise with watchmen-slaves around. Being a trader made you sensitive about such matters.

For the second time that night, no one noticed Nebyi when someone likely should have. He and Raushan found the shore road without a problem, and headed for the riverfront tavern -- a wooden affair, involving stilts -- where Raushan could find his friends.

Nebyi waited outside in the shadows while Raushan went in to deal, glad of the chance for a rest and some thinking. He felt gummy and dull with weariness, but at least his mind still worked. By the time Raushan returned, Nebyi had a lot more questions, if few answers. What he wasn't questioning, though, was his decision to leave the City with Raushan.

Fighting was for warriors. Sword training or no, Nebyi was a trader. The wise trader, when confronted by a snarl that included violence, stepped aside until he could disentangle events. That was Uncle Kirubel's rule number eighteen, although Nebyi had understood tactical withdrawal long before he'd spent days squatting on the stone-flagged floors of his guildhouse-to-be, learning about the outlands from his new Uncles in Trade.

He heard footsteps and turned. Raushan was approaching, followed by four river tribesmen. For once, the tribesmen weren't chiming as they walked. They'd muffled their bells.

Raushan said softly, "These are four honorables of the River, who will help us on our way."

Nebyi pressed his palms together toward each of the tribesmen in turn. They returned his gesture. Then he heaved up his pack and followed them down to the edge of the water where the tavern patrons beached and tied up their boats. There, the tribesmen's gestures made clear that Nebyi should ride in the middle of one of the slim boats and Raushan in the other. Nebyi removed his boots, unbelted his sword, and then kilted up his robes so that he could wade out into the shallows. After the boat was pushed free from the shore but before it was out into the currents, he clambered in. One of the tribesman hoisted Nebyi's backpack in behind him.

Once on the water, the tribesman at the bow lit a lantern to supplement the light of the moon setting over the river. Then he and his comrade set to work. Thanks to the Spirit of his Motherhouse that Nebyi wasn't expected to paddle. He knew, from previous trips of this sort, that his main job would be to keep low as they traveled, helping the stability of the craft. That, he felt he could do. He leaned forward to wrap his arms around his upraised knees, rested his head on them, and dozed.

Experience was a wonderful thing; he must not have shifted while he slept, given how stiff he felt when he awoke. Opening his eyes, he stayed still until he remembered where he was. The soft splash of the paddles, shifting from one side of the hull to the other, helped. So did the harsh and lonely cry of a swamp partridge rising, off in the distance. This was the gray dawn, the time before true sunrise.

A quick glance confirmed that they still paced the other boat. Raushan almost reclined between his two paddling tribesmen, a triumph of style over situation. Around them, the widening river ran between low, forested hills streaming mist; they had passed out of the great gorge while Nebyi slept and into the farming districts. Not surprisingly, the tavern the river tribesmen favored was below any of the major rapids, but Nebyi must still have been exhausted to have slept through the occasional stretch of swift water.

"I hope I didn't snore," he tried saying softly in the language of the City.

"No, Trader," the tribesman behind replied. "You also kept very still," he added approvingly.

"Now is the time that spirits sink low," the tribesman before him said, never turning his head away from the river and the smooth slide of his paddle through its waters. "It is good that you awoke." Then, after a pause where all was silent aside from the steady dip and stroke, dip and stroke, he shyly asked, "Your song was pretty, and it had a fine beat. Could you sing for us?"

Nebyi's gaze sharpened. Now he recognized this man. He'd been one of the three dancers on the next table in the tavern yesterday afternoon. Interesting, and likely not a coincidence. "I will gladly sing, if you do not worry that I will alert the farmers or the herdsmen we pass."

"They avoid the shallows at the dawning, fearing waterhorses and crocodiles."

If the alternatives were more brooding about crocodiles or singing, Nebyi would sing. Knowing he would need to save his voice for all the many, many verses, he quietly began the List of Gems. In the dim, he could barely see when Raushan turned his hooded head in Nebyi's direction, likely to smile.

The hills went by as they paddled swiftly with the current, slopes slowly smoothing as they traveled farther from the City. The farmlands on the banks stretched up the lowering slopes, their fields a mosaic of greens. Above the eastern horizon, the sky lightened as Nebyi sang, growing bright where the sun would enter, making the few clouds hanging low flush pink and gold. Finally, the sun rose, its entrance a shock of light. Switching from song to song, Nebyi sang on, his voice flowing out over the water as they voyaged away from the lands of the City of Dark Gold.

He would have found the entire scene quite lyrical if he hadn't noticed, ever more often as the morning went on, how Raushan tugged the hood he was wearing low to make sure that it covered his forehead.

 

IV

 

As it turned out, the first stage of adjusting to a sacred gem of power demanded that Raushan spend a great deal of time staring into space while wearing an irritated expression. Nebyi was just grateful that all this staring could take place in a boat. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how they would have kept ahead of whatever storm was breaking behind them, back in the City of Dark Gold. Now and then, Nebyi itched with his unease, neither a good sign nor one he could blame any longer on skipping shaving.

The first afternoon, when they had stopped on a small reedy isle in the middle of the widening river, Nebyi gave Raushan his spare headdress and upper veil. In exchange, he took Raushan's hood. Once a headband was forced down over the hood, the result managed to cover Nebyi's forehead. He also cinched up his lower veil beneath his chin and packed away his outer robe. The result seemed strange, but it did cover what needed to be covered while altering the normal appearance of a Veiled Man.

They traveled with the river tribesmen for days, halting only for meals or to make camp at obscure landings after the last glow of twilight died away. Sometimes the tribesmen would paddle as they voyaged, and sometimes one would rest while the other steered gently, almost idly, through the swift flow of the river. There was never much conversation, although Nebyi was asked to sing several times, and thrice the tribesmen taught him one of their songs. Even after these lessons, they didn't share their names.

"They're smugglers, aren't they?" Nebyi asked Raushan, during a brief time of privacy when they'd left their evening camp to water the undergrowth together.

"Right now, they are being paid to transport us," Raushan said primly. "Otherwise, I prefer to think of them as undocumented traders." He hoisted a wry shoulder. "The past five lifetimes or so, priests have taken to speaking of the tribesmen as outcaste, so their honest opportunities are much reduced."

"Ah," Nebyi said. "You took advantage of my distracting presence in that tavern a few days back to meet with an undocumented trader?"

"Merely to receive a message from one," Raushan said. He tilted his head, and his tone went silky. "I wish I could take advantage of your distracting presence right now."

"That wasn't as smooth as usual. Obviously, you're already distracted."

"Yes," Raushan said. "Oh, yes." His hand rose to the upper veil he now wore constantly, but he didn't touch the spot on his forehead where the topaz had come to rest.

By the end of the fifth day, they had journeyed across the plains and back into hill country. "Tomorrow we'll reach the confluence of the river and the Lake of Light. We'll leave the boats there, at least for a time," Raushan told Nebyi after they'd moored that evening.

"I'm glad you've had a destination in mind," Nebyi said. Raushan had been growing increasingly distracted.

"We'll be staying with a community of holy men who look to the Raushani for patronage, nice sorts who keep to themselves and who will ask fewer questions than any of my clan would." Raushan's hand crept up again, as it had so often during the past few days. He stopped himself. "You'll like them. They look outward. Their residence is interesting." His tone was growing vague.

"Come back to the fire," Nebyi said softly.

Raushan was right when he claimed the holy men's residence was interesting. Sited on the lower of two hills that loomed behind a small fishing town, the large building was of brickwork pierced by many openings that allowed the lake breezes to blow through its wide, stark halls. On the worn, stone floors of these halls, both novices and devotees sat for long spans of time, their legs crossed like so many young apprentices copying on their slates, as they contemplated an esoteric wisdom that they believed would take them past the limits of the world.

Nebyi and Raushan were given a large room on the top floor of the residence, one with a balcony that overlooked both the lake and the other hill. There, they were separated from the daily life of the community, likely more for the sake of the holy men than for Raushan's comfort. Since Raushan was spending almost as much time staring into space as the holy men, Nebyi had time free to learn about the community. He quickly discovered that their rules demanded they forsake most of what Raushan enjoyed. Raushan was a strange patron for them.

"And yet, he and his predecessors have come to us before," the Senior Teacher of the holy men told Nebyi. "They seem to find our company restful." A lively, elderly man with a sardonic gaze, he always made time for conversations during which he would ask many questions about Dymat, likely with an eye toward spreading his practices there. Given how most of the principles of their Founder seemed to describe what one shouldn't do, Nebyi wasn't sure how well they'd suit a land whose gods and spirits always meddled with what one did. But that wasn't his problem, and at least Senior Teacher would speak with him about history.

"Many of the Raushan--" Senior Teacher didn't seem to know that all the Raushan had been one man, "--were dissenters even during the height of the Old Empire. Although they followed the consensus of the other magi, they never feared to speak their minds. Thus, they were blamed for the schisms among the magi that led to the loss of the sacred gems and the Empire's fall, something which hinders the Raushani politically to this day."

"And were the Raushan responsible?"

"The gods know." Senior Teacher's smile was laced with irony. "A noble warlord, who turned aside to follow the Founder, is remembered as saying that the magi always hid conflicting faces behind their single mask. Perhaps the Raushan were merely the most honest of them. In any case, we have never felt the need to spurn Raushani charity."

When Nebyi brought the tray holding their midday meal to their room, he was glad to see that Raushan was up and aware of what was going on around him. "I've been speaking of you," he told Raushan, as he lifted the lids from the bowls to grimace at the latest reincarnation of millet soup with vegetables.

"You expect me to be displeased?" His clothing was growing grubby, but Raushan's skin now had a faint, golden tinge to it that approached a glow. Nebyi thought he was nearing some accord with the topaz glinting on his forehead.

"You didn't much enjoy the Old Empire."

"One doesn't enjoy riding a tiger. One merely holds on and tries to steer, mostly to little avail."

"Then why did you band together with the other regents of the gems, adding to their power?"

Raushan looked up from his bowl to study Nebyi. "Personal considerations aside -- and there were those at first, curse my foolishness -- I did believe we were doing as the gods desired."

"You were wrong." After all, the gems had disappeared.

"Perhaps. Perhaps we merely didn't notice when the boulder that others pushed upslope, while we strolled along beside them, started rolling downhill as it's been doing ever since. It's difficult to remember; most memories fade with time, and I haven't struggled as hard as I should to hold tight to my failures." Raushan sipped some soup before asking, "Do you know what these hilltops once were?"

"I haven't asked Senior Teacher that, no."

"Two temples were raised here, at the same time twinned temples were being built all across the Empire. This," Raushan pointed down with the spoon, "was the site of a temple dedicated to the sacred spirit of the Emperor. That," his spoon gestured toward the windows and their view of the other hilltop, "held a nice little structure celebrating the divine genius of the gem-magi, specifically of the magus born by the Lake of Light. The first Raushan. Me."

"The gods can't have liked that."

"I'm so glad someone agrees with me, if twelve lifetimes too late." Raushan turned his attention from soup to the main dish, a bowl of steamed millet. "I take it the Dymat gods can also be touchy about their prerogatives."

Nebyi settled for rolling his eyes. After a pause for eating, he added, "Neat turnabout, housing these particular holy men here."

"Thank you. It's nice to have a friend who recognizes humor when he sees it."

Well after lunch, while Nebyi was out on the balcony practicing his short sword forms and Raushan had returned to a meditation that increasingly resembled reclining, there was a sharp rap on the door. Nebyi went to open it, and found a novice outside in the hall who was clutching a folded slip of reed paper and looking alarmed. It would have been nice to think that the message was what had stirred up the novice, but, from the way he fled after Nebyi took the reed paper from him, that wasn't likely. Nebyi closed the door, unfolded a note scribed in Senior Teacher's style, and read with his lips moving.

Raushan glanced up from where he lounged on the reed mats. "Anything interesting?"

"Only if you prefer fleeing to reclining. The holy men have received word from some of their wandering brethren that the City of Dark Gold has agents out seeking you, ones who are now concentrating their efforts in this direction." He looked up from the note. "Do they use trained hawks to carry messages here?"

"These holy men? Pigeons." Raushan stood, graceful as ever. "Just as well. I and the topaz weary of each other's unrelenting company. The pestilent thing is as forthcoming as ever about what I should do next, which means not at all."

Nebyi gestured sympathy, but he asked, "So how about worrying about escaping? Where do you want to go?"

"Rather, where do you wish to go? I'm assuming you're returning to Dymat."

"Someone may be looking for me at the Port of Red Beryls."

"Then let's make for the Port of Ancient Sacrifice. I know ships allied to your line sometimes wait out the monsoon there."

"You're right. That's likely the best alternative." Although Nebyi regretted losing his chance to buy more beryls, Uncle Kirubel's rule number two stated that a real profit and safety were better than an imagined profit and peril. He studied Raushan. "I've known you and your planning long enough to stick to asking how we'll signal the river tribesmen that we need their assistance again."

"You have known me long enough. We'll need to discuss that." When Raushan smiled, the topaz glinted. Before Nebyi could ask him any questions, he added, "We'll be lighting a bonfire that they can see."

"Here?" Nebyi asked, turning to inspect the balcony dubiously.

"Oh, no. Over there, on the site of my former temple."

***

They followed a path that led down from the residence and into a saddle between the two hilltops, before winding up through thin woods toward the crest of the higher hill. As they hiked up the steep and rocky slope, the path grew fainter until the trees gave way to a sparse meadow where the path disappeared.

"Now where?" Nebyi asked Raushan.

"There," he said, pointing toward some large boulders nearly hidden by grasses and brush.

Making their way through the undergrowth, past what Nebyi realized were weathered and scattered remnants of the old temple, they reached an open space at the crest of the hill where ancient stone flags were still visible between clumps of grasses. Nebyi wondered why the stones weren't entirely covered by meadow and then decided he was too winded to care. Pulling off his pack, he dropped it and sat.

After a chance to catch his breath and scratch his leg, he said, "Any fire we build will also be visible in the village. We should have plenty of rustics up here to see if we have anything worth scavenging."

Raushan snorted as he set down several bundled logs and then his pack. "I doubt that. This place is said to be cursed. The only reason any paths remain is so offerings can be made on the feasts of the dead."

"Oh, that makes me feel better." Irritated, Nebyi pushed his left hand up his right sleeve to scratch another itch.

"Given that the ghost they most hope to appease is mine, you'll understand if I'm not too fearful."

"How sad -- sad and green like a peridot -- that you're usually not around to enjoy your offerings." Sprawling back, Nebyi pillowed his head on his pack. "At least we have some time to rest before sunset." Raushan sat down next to him and leaned against his own pack. His having carried the firewood made his lack of fatigue all the more irritating. "Maybe I'll take a nap."

"Don't mind me. I'll be right here, learning nothing from my gem."

Complain, complain, Nebyi thought. "So, enquire of an oracle. Seek some omen from the sacred crocodiles. Find the old miner who sold me the stone and ask his advice."

"You still think he was only a miner? As to the rest, oracles and omens don't speak to me, just about me."

"Count yourself fortunate," Nebyi said, grumpily digging around under his robes, chasing another itch.

"Oracles and omens speak to you?" Raushan asked, levering himself up onto an elbow, as interested as ever in magic.

Nebyi stilled. He didn't even try to scratch any of the itches that were spreading across his skin like so many biting fire ants.

"I can see from your eyes that they do." Raushan reached over to tug on Nebyi's lower veil. "You've been holding out on me, Younger Brother in Trade."

Knocking Raushan's hand away, Nebyi said, "Not about anything that's mine to tell."

As he rolled to look down at Nebyi, Raushan teased, "But I want to know every little detail about you." He leered.

"Then go to the Crones and ask."

Raushan stilled above him, the topaz on his forehead flaring into brightness for a heartbeat. Nebyi gritted his teeth. He would have heard the power in his words even if he hadn't felt the relief as the itches died away.

One breath passed, and then two, before Raushan said, "What an interesting suggestion." Now, as he looked down at Nebyi, his eyes were speculative. "I thought the Crones didn't speak to foreigners."

"They don't, of course." Seeing Raushan's incomprehension, Nebyi added, "You're my Elder Brother in Trade." Raushan still didn't seem to understand. "You are of my guildhouse line, made Nephew by the Uncles. You're no foreigner."

Sounding bemused, Raushan said, "I thought that was an honorary title. An enjoyable one, certainly, but--"

"About as honorary as being Raushan, and nearly as rare a gifting in the outland. Whatever did you do to earn their adopting, anyhow?"

Raushan's gaze shifted sideways. "Ask your Uncle Kirubel."

Nebyi snorted. "As if my sire ever teaches me anything interesting except for the latest of his rules."

There was a pause before Raushan said, his voice neutral, "Your Uncle is your sire."

"My Uncle in Trade, yes." Nebyi felt himself flushing under his veils. "I know it's odd to be adopted into such a close relationship with one's own father, but my motherhouse is a Crone line and has always held that a sire should bond as tightly with his children as his sisters' offspring because of the power we..." He stopped. His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing." Raushan stilled his twitching lips and looked grave. "I obviously haven't learned as much about the Veiled People as I thought I had. Perhaps I should go visit the Crones."

"Perhaps you should." Nebyi's mind raced. "I mean, if you can leave your clan and country for a while, at least that would give you time to see what will happen with the other gems." And what a find for Trader Nebyi, bringing one of the twelve most valuable gems in the world back to the Crones to ponder. Not to mention, retrieving Raushan from his crocodiles, an even better deal. "Besides, then you wouldn't have to pay back the one hundred and thirty-three silver pieces you owe me."

"One hundred and thirty-three silver pieces. For your share of the sacred topaz."

"Yes. I'm not charging you the odd change--"

Raushan leaned over to interrupt, in his most sultry tones, "What can I do to make up to you for this dreadful loss?"

"Raushan--"

"I would never wish to deprive you." With Nebyi not wearing his outer robe, Raushan had managed to insinuate a hand onto Nebyi's stomach. He could likely feel the muscles twitch beneath his touch. "Not you, my very dear, not-at-all-blood-related little Brother in Trade."

"You're being disgust--" Raushan tugged loose the lower veil from its cinching, and kissed Nebyi. After that, all Nebyi wanted was to throw his arms around Raushan and wallow beneath the weight of him, enjoying the warmth of his mouth. Raushan's mouth was a treasure that tasted of millet, with teeth that nipped gently at Nebyi's lips before his tongue surged to meet Nebyi's own. By the time their kisses ended, Nebyi was winded again.

As for Raushan, he sat up and yanked at Nebyi's robes while saying in a voice both gleeful and husky, "If I'd known I was a true Dymati, I would have done this a long--"

"That's not why--" Nebyi tried to break in, before giving up even as Raushan froze. His eyes widening, Raushan stared down at Nebyi's newly naked stomach.

Nebyi glanced up at the clear, blue sky for a heartbeat, wondering if it was too late to slither away. Seemingly so, since when Nebyi looked back at Raushan, he had started stripping off the rest of Nebyi's inner robes with a peculiar expression on his face. All Nebyi could find to say was, "If I get any ticks, I'm blaming you."

"All right." Raushan sounded distracted, as well he might. A bit later, he asked, "May I undo your veils?"

"I'll do that." Nebyi stripped off the headband and hood before tugging away what was left of his lower veil. Then he glared at Raushan, who sat gazing contemplatively, holding the ends of Nebyi's breechclout absently in both hands. "Well?"

"I'd heard from travelers' accounts that the Veiled People were tattooed. I'd even caught the odd glimpse." Raushan blinked. "However, this? Nebyi, he's glaring at me."

Glancing down, Nebyi raised a shoulder. "What else would you expect after annoying the spirit-likeness of a Crone-line son? Smiling? Shedding? A hair-ball?"

"But he moves," Raushan almost breathed. "Do all your markings move? Do they speak, too?"

"Why would anyone need omen-markings that need voices, when they can use their bearer's? Mine settle for itching." Nebyi snorted. "Especially if I'm not saying what they want fast enough. My mother planned for me to be a seer. Which is why I'm covered by about a hundred of them. You must have noticed."

"Not a hundred, surely," Raushan said absently, as he slid a delicate, tormenting finger up Nebyi's chest in an obvious ploy to get Nebyi's spirit-likeness batting at it with a paw. He was succeeding, too.

"Would you stop that?"

"No, I don't think so." He ran the finger on toward Nebyi's throat. "How far can he wander?"

"Robes. Veils. Headdress."

"Good. Otherwise, I couldn't help feeling that I was squashing him while I do this." With a heave, he flipped Nebyi over onto his stomach.

"Do I get to comment, now?"

"Mmn." Raushan's tongue was tracing a trail of wet heat down Nebyi's lower spine.

"Because I'm used to being asked. Before trying. New." Raushan's hands grasped Nebyi's buttocks, spreading them as his tongue continued relentlessly on toward its goal. "Spirits," Nebyi told the crumpled veil lying next to him, "never mind." Then he settled for panting and clawing at all the clumps of grass he could reach as he was speared with Raushan's tongue.

"Are you ready?" Raushan asked when he'd finally pulled away, in a voice both coaxing and ragged.

"Yes." Nebyi let his shudder rack him. "I'm ready."

He felt Raushan move between his outspread legs, and heard the rustle of fabric being untied and shifted. "Like a fool, I don't have anything else to ease my way--"

"Curse you, I'm ready--"

"--and I can't stand the notion of hurting-- He's come around to glare at me again."

"Fuck, I wonder why," Nebyi gritted out. Then he braced his arms and pushed up onto his knees as Raushan finally gripped his hips to get him into position. It was a good thing for Raushan that his cock felt as wonderful as it did, sinking into Nebyi's ass.

There was nothing refined or graceful about the way Raushan rode Nebyi, swearing as their flesh slapped together, gripping hard when he worked Nebyi's cock toward its spending. After Nebyi came, Raushan responded by pushing him down on the flags and fucking him harder. Nebyi grinned and bucked up beneath Raushan's thrusts, enjoying the shuddering reaction, the increasingly ragged pace. Raushan moaned as he came, wrapped his arms around Nebyi, and pressed his face tight against Nebyi's shoulder.

"That was graceful," Nebyi said afterward. There was an insect on the blade of grass closest to his nose. It didn't seem to be a tick.

"I don't suppose you'd consider a second job as a mattress?" Raushan asked him. "Likely not." He eased out. "I meant that to be more impressive than it was. Too much want. Too long a lifetime of depravation."

"I was impressed. And what do you mean, depravation? When were you ever celibate?"

"Mmm. Only once. That was a bad thirty years." Raushan kissed his back, gently tongued a marking. "I've been meaning to explain. I started to explain."

"You're about to be heaved off onto a rock."

"Or to be glared at again." Raushan slid off Nebyi, rolled to sit up, and smiled. He was a picture of gorgeous self-satisfaction until he looked down. "Oh, joy. I've broken the tie on these trousers."

Nebyi also sat up. He didn't have to look to know his spirit portrait was lashing his tail. "Explaining? You mentioned explaining?"

"Ah. Sometimes you do want to know and sometimes you don't." Before Nebyi could retort, Raushan raised two fingers. "Yes, I can tell that this time you do." He cleared his throat. "You've been around me before. Earlier on, I mean."

"Previous incarnations," Nebyi said slowly.

"That's it." Raushan was hunting around in his backpack in a way that was elaborately casual. "Oh, nine times or so. Or ten, if you count when you were my favorite enemy. Ten out of the last twelve lifetimes." He pulled out spare trousers.

Nebyi considered this history. Then he considered what Raushan wasn't saying and had to swallow a smile. "You must be a habit." He forced a scowl. "Like hemp resin."

"Seemingly so. I'm grateful, mind you." He passed Nebyi a cleaning rag and their water skin. "You're always a good friend whenever you choose to be. But the times when I can fitly press for more are my favorites."

"What a surprise." Nebyi raised a shoulder. "Then I suppose I might as well continue as I've begun. Even if that does mean loving the biggest peacock on the Great Peninsula enough to take him home."

Raushan's smile was like the sun rising over Spirit Lake, brighter than the topaz shining on his forehead.

After Nebyi had cleaned up, he checked for ticks. Raushan was supposed to examine what Nebyi couldn't see but kept pausing to run fingers along Nebyi's back. "Would you stop playing with him? It's distracting, and the longer this takes, the longer I'm sitting around without my veils on."

"I don't know why you're worried. It's not as if either of you will burn. '--living grace of ebony/seared by southern sun to night's sweet hue--'"

"Recite that poem in front of Uncle Kirubel. I want to see his face." Nebyi grinned and added, "When we finally get home to see his face. Which will only require lighting a bonfire with nothing but a striker in evening winds. Oh, and a month spent traveling rivers and rotten roads, risking hostile rustics and opportunistic bandits, so we can spend two months at sea. Where we chance being blown off course and dying of thirst. Not to mention pirates." Raushan dropped Nebyi's inner robes on his head. Pulling them off, Nebyi continued blithely, "If we avoid the power-hungry, would-be emperors, that is. And the sacred crocodiles."

"How adventurous our future sounds," Raushan said with a smile. "How I look forward to it. A trader in topaz. That's obviously the life for me."

**Author's Note:**

> I had vague notions of making this the first in a series of pulpy stories starring this pair -- Nebyi and Raushan Brave the Temple of the Baboons! Nebyi and Raushan at the Mountain of Fire! Nebyi and Raushan Face the Great Walking Stones! -- all plotted around attempts to trade in various Classical-era gemstones while epic fantasy elements get in the way. After all, it's never just an adventurer's world.
> 
> Maybe someday.
> 
> The story was originally published commercially through a small press, but all rights have reverted to me, where they remain. The usual fandom, not-for-profit permissions apply. Given the obvious fannish influences and tropes, it seemed possible to post it here. I hope you enjoy!


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